One night I had fallen into an uneasy slumber, and without undressing lay on my bed untrimmed and unshaven, for I was fast becoming careless of an existence so monotonous. As usual, I was dreaming of freedom and of home, and I saw the broad blue Dee sweeping on its course, past the old turreted stronghold of the Maclellans; I saw St. Mary's Isle, with all its waving woods and ruined pinnacles of the monkish times; I heard the bell of St. Cuthbert's ancient kirk, as it jangled in its spire of stone, and the notes of the mavis and merle, as they soared aloft with wings outspread on the glittering air; and I seemed to feel the pure breeze that came from the purple muirlands, laden with the perfumes of the blooming heather, and the golden broom; all--all spoke to me of home, my native land, and I wept in my sleep with joy. '_Number thirty-two!_' cried a voice. Suddenly a light flashed into my eyes, and I awoke. Martin Omelette stood before me, bearing a lamp, and in the shadowy background were two female figures masked and muffled. 'Pardon, monsieur,' said Martin; 'but here are two ladies who bear an order to the Governor of the Bastille, permitting them to visit you; so I shall set down the lamp, and wait outside.' He bowed and withdrew. As he did so one of my visitors removed her mask, and I recognised the Countess d'Amboise, with her bewitching eyes, her full white bosom displayed as much as ever, her charming embonpoint, her grace and winning sweetness. A golden tress which escaped between the broad hat and mask of her companion acquainted me that she was the attendant Nicola the little Lorrainer. Clara d'Ische certainly looked dazzling, and her dress was magnificent; yet I gazed at her coldly, for I remembered, that with all her powerful interest she had allowed me to pine a prisoner for months in the Bastille. 'Alas! M. Arthur, have you nothing to say to me?' 'Yes, madame--this visit is most welcome--for save the voice of honest Martin my gaoler, no other has broken the solitude of this chamber for months.' 'Poor Monsieur Blane!' said the soft voice of Nicola. 'You knew that I was here, I presume, Madame la Comtesse?' said I, with some asperity. 'I knew that you were arrested--' 'Indeed--I thought so.' 'Arrested,' she continued, her hazel eyes flashing, 'when coming from the house of the base courtesan De l'Orme, in the Rue de St. Jacques.' 'I merely visited Mademoiselle de l'Orme to deliver six letters from the camp. On my honour I had no other purpose.' 'Keep your own secrets, Monsieur, they are nothing to me. I might have had you released within a week, had I chosen.' 'But you did not choose it, madame?' 'No.' 'Alas!--it was very cruel of you. Had any one told me that I should have lived in this place so long without my heart breaking I could not have believed it.' The Countess gazed at me fully and pitilessly; but little Nicola cast down her soft eyes sadly as I spoke.